The Bareknuckle Groom: The Thompsons of Locust Street

by Bush, Holly

  James winked at his middle sister. She’d never been the talkative one of the family, always preferring to stay in the background, but since her kidnapping and then her marriage to Alexander, it seemed to James that she was more confident than ever before, more willing to share her opinions. She smiled at him and then looked at Alexander, who picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, making her cheeks redden. She was so clearly in love with him, and he with her, and to think that there had not seemed to be anything remotely similar between the two of them when they first became acquainted.

  He had to look away. He didn’t want any part of this romantic web that seemed to be surrounding him lately, first with Elspeth and then MacAvoy and Mrs. Emory.

  “When is your next match, James?” Alexander asked.

  “I want to go to it, Robert and I both,” Payden said. “If we’re old enough to hold a gun, then we’re old enough to go see you box.”

  “The crowds at these matches are very rough sort of men,” Muireall said. “Not company you need to keep.”

  “She’s being a prig again, James,” Payden said.

  “Watch your mouth, boy. You’re not too old for me to smack your behind for speaking to your sister in such a way. But if your studies are caught up and all the work is done with the canning, Alexander and his father have agreed to take you and Robert—if his mother allows,” James said.

  Payden let out a cheer and shoved away from the table. “May I be excused to tell Robert? I’ll be right back to my seat. May I?”

  Muireall glanced at James and then proceeded to eat. “You’re excused.”

  “Who is your next opponent?” Alexander asked.

  “Charley Crankshaw.”

  “Do you know much about him?”

  “No, I don’t, I’m sorry to say. MacAvoy and I were to discuss him last night, but he was late, on account of his courting Mrs. Emory,” James said and shook his head.

  “He’s serious about her, James. You should not make light of him, and little Mary adores him. I would not be surprised if there was an announcement forthcoming,” Elspeth said.

  “MacAvoy and Mrs. Emory, you say?” Muireall asked. “Your housekeeper?”

  “Who are his people, James? You were never able to say, and he’s around all the time. I want to know who his people are,” Aunt Murdoch said as everyone began to talk at once.

  James looked at Alexander and winked. The other man chuckled into his napkin as the table erupted into three different conversations, each louder than the last. The room quieted finally, and Payden stood to help Robert clear the dishes. Mrs. McClintok carried in the warm custard topped with mixed berries they’d jarred themselves this past summer. This was the last meal he’d eat like this for a while, unfortunately. He needed to drop a few pounds before the Crankshaw fight and would have to forgo Mrs. McClintok’s big meals and desserts to do it.

  “Have you received your invitations to Aunt Isadora and Uncle Nathan’s ball? I believe you should all be getting them,” Alexander said.

  “Ugh,” Payden said. “I’m staying home.”

  Kirsty clapped her hands. “How exciting! This will be my third—no, my fourth party that I’ve been invited to, not even counting your wedding, Elspeth!”

  “I’m so looking forward to it.” Elspeth grinned. “I want to introduce you to Alexander’s cousins, Benjamin and Ralph. They are very nice young men and are both home from college for the holiday.”

  “College men?” James winked at Kirsty. “Well, well!”

  Kirsty blushed from her forehead to her chin. “Oh no. I’m not clever enough to talk to men that go to college. Maybe it’s best I don’t meet them. I won’t know what to say.”

  “You are every bit as worthy as the next woman. You are bright and beautiful and loving—”

  “And loud,” Payden interrupted, making James and Alexander avoid looking at each other.

  “And kind,” Elspeth finished.

  “My cousins are well-mannered young men and have been raised to be respectful of ladies. My Aunt Isadora would have had their hides if they weren’t,” Alexander said. “I’m certain they will enjoy meeting you.”

  “Oh. Oh, Alexander,” Kirsty said, holding her hands to her cheeks. “You always make me feel better.”

  “My husband is charming,” Elspeth said and ducked her head.

  Alexander was a good man. Elspeth had married well, and not because he was wealthy and from a powerful and influential family. He was singularly focused on Elspeth’s happiness, and nothing made his sister more content than seeing her family safe and happy. James looked between the two of them, now smiling at each other. There was love in the world. There was devotion like his parents had known. But why would he bind himself to one woman? He was far too pleased spending his time with lots of different women.

  * * *

  Lucinda was furious. By the time she reached her suite of rooms overlooking the gardens at the back of their mansion, she was seething, and she was not sure who she was angrier with, her father or the street fighter. How dare he insinuate that she was somehow bound to him! That he had gained her affections! What idiocy! He was nothing to her, even if visions of their dance had kept her awake long into the night, the feel of his hand at her waist making her flop from one side of the mattress to the other.

  “Miss Lucinda?” her maid, Giselle, queried from the doorway of her dressing room. “Would you like any particular dress laid out for your luncheon?”

  She had almost forgotten that she’d committed to visiting with Edith Fairchild for a meal and perhaps some shopping. She turned a calm face toward her maid. “Lay out the lavender silk and tell Mr. Laurent to have the carriage to ready at eleven.” Perhaps an outing would ease her anger and divert her thoughts.

  “Oh, your dress is delightful! How stylish you always are! You outshine your old friend in every way,” Edith said a few hours later as the Fairchild butler took Lucinda’s coat.

  “How silly you are being,” Lucinda said quickly, the conversation having been repeated nearly every time they met. “You know you are the most beautiful debutante Philadelphia has ever seen.”

  Edith shrugged, looking as if the compliment were her due, and smiled coyly. “You are too sweet,” she said, pursing her lips near each of Lucinda’s cheeks and wrapping her fingers around her arm. “Now come, dearest. We will have a lovely meal and maybe venture out to the shops. I am in desperate need of a new hat.”

  She joined Edith in a small dining room with a table placed near large windows, now letting in a weak winter sun. But it was warm and comfortable from the blaze in the massive marble fireplace nearby. The table was set with starched white linen, crystal, and silver. Lucinda listened to her friend with half an ear as the servant shook out her napkin and filled the cut-crystal glass with lemonade.

  “That miserable girl, I hate her, I just hate her!” Edith said. “For her to say what she said! It’s dastardly!”

  “Oh no,” Lucinda said, having no idea who her friend was talking about. But she would if Edith held true to form.

  “Miss Mary Hershey is the devil! She was flirting with Mr. Kingley at the museum opening, batting her lashes, laughing at everything he said, practically rubbing herself on him. He was ignoring her, of course, as I was across the room from him and could see everything that happened.”

  “Oh dear! Right in front of you!” Lucinda said and looked up from her meal.

  “And then later she was talking to some people very near me and said that Mr. Kingley would be meeting her at the park for a walk as soon as the weather was fair. She spoke loudly enough that I could hear everything!”

  “I’m so sorry, Edith. I know you were coming to like him.”

  Edith tilted her head, holding a bite of salmon on her fork halfway to her mouth. “Like him?”

  “Yes. Mr. Kingley. You said the last time we met that—”

  “I don’t like him any more or any less than I do anyone I am considering.”

  �
��Oh. Then you are not upset?”

  “Yes, I’m upset! I’m upset at that witch, Mary Hershey. Let us make plans as to how I shall put her in her place. One would think that shocking red hair would be enough to keep her apart from our crowd, but she insinuates herself all of the time!” Edith leaned over the table. “What do you think if I start a rumor that she was being overly friendly with Simon Wurtzburg? Maybe she’d been seen kissing him, or even more!”

  Lucinda stared at her friend. She could easily imagine her dropping hints about just such a rumor. In the short time they’d known each other, Lucinda had learned that Edith was very good at feigning sincerity and adding a dollop of pity while undermining a young woman’s reputation. And what else did a woman have other than her reputation? Was Lucinda as shallow as Edith? As mean-spirited? There was no doubt that if she displeased Edith, she would be targeted just the same.

  When she and her aunt had begun to venture into Philadelphia society, Lucinda had been flattered that well-known socialite Edith Fairchild had endeavored to meet her and include her in her crowd of friends. But sometimes the gossip and inuendo and jealousy that typified that crowd—her circle of acquaintances now as well—made her want to hole up in her suite and not venture out to meet them ever again. There was only so much spitefulness and sly, demeaning words a woman could condone or ignore. Wouldn’t it be refreshing to hear some plain speaking? Or to converse with someone who was completely honest?

  Like Mr. James Thompson.

  Damn him to everlasting Hades for invading her thoughts. For picturing those broad shoulders, green eyes, and that chipped tooth that made her want to run her tongue over her own teeth. Edith was still plotting when dessert arrived.

  “You know, if Mr. Kingley is interested in you, he will separate himself from Miss Hershey, and if he doesn’t, you don’t really want him anyway, do you?”

  Edith stared at her. “That is hardly the point, though, is it? Mary Hershey must be made to understand who sets the rules and why it is in her best interest to follow them.”

  Lucinda smiled. “Of course,” she said and was rewarded with a grin from her friend and hopefully an end to a conversation that was suddenly disturbing. “Where will we shop for bonnets today?”

  “If my gown is ready at Fulbright’s, we could shop there. I think their hat collection is excellent.”

  “A new gown?”

  “I wanted something very special for the Pendergast ball. The sons of the family are college men and will have college brothers attend, I imagine. My mother said that would be a fine family to align with, even though their nephew, Alexander, married some loose woman from a disreputable family. His parents must be furious. I heard the bride and groom snuck away before they could be stopped,” Edith said and rose from her seat. “I know the sister, Annabelle. Her prospects will diminish because of it, even with wealthy parents and a pretty face.”

  Lucinda had not realized that Edith was well acquainted with the Pendergast family or that she’d received an invitation. As she had understood it, her and her aunt’s invitation to the ball had come because Aunt Louisa was interested in serving on the Philadelphia Hospital committee with Mrs. Pendergast. Lucinda was surprised that Edith had not heard about the dance she’d shared Elspeth Pendergast’s brother since she knew the family well enough to be invited to Nathan and Isadora Pendergast’s ball. But it was only a matter of time until she did hear.

  Edith kept up a tirade most of the afternoon while they shopped, and Lucinda had never been so glad to see the portico of her home and Laurent waiting by the door. She climbed the steps to her rooms thinking over the day and wondered how long it would be until someone mentioned Thompson’s comments to Edith. Would she then be the subject of hideous and unfair gossip? She imagined that she would be. She looked up as she neared her door to see her aunt speaking to her from only a few feet away. She’d been lost in her thoughts and had not even heard her approach.

  “Lucinda, dear, how was your afternoon?”

  She stared at her aunt—her mother, to be perfectly honest, as she had no recollection of the woman who birthed her. She was tired and out of sorts and wondering where she would fit in, if she ever would.

  Aunt Louisa cocked her head and then opened the door to her rooms. “Come sit down. I think some tea would do you good. Or would you prefer to be alone?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ll ask Giselle to get us a tray.” She found her maid in the dressing room attached to her bathing room.

  She came back to her sitting room, where Aunt Louisa had made herself comfortable near the fire. Lucinda seated herself, toed off her slippers, and pulled her feet beside her on the chintz-covered chair. They waited quietly until the tea arrived and Louisa could pour them both a cup. She turned to her niece.

  “How is Edith?”

  She shrugged. “The same, although perhaps I am different today.”

  “In what way?”

  “She is plotting to start a rumor about a woman she doesn’t like,” Lucinda said. “She can be cruel.”

  Aunt Louisa stared at her and then focused on the fire. “I grew up with a young woman whom I thought was my dearest friend. When Renaldo began showing an interest in me, I was thrilled and flattered. He was very handsome and from a wealthy family. I dreamt of marriage to him. When it appeared Renaldo was going to speak to my papa, this friend managed to steal away with him, and they were set to be married shortly after. I don’t know if he was never interested in me or if she’d tricked him somehow, but it was right at the time that we heard that your mother had died. My mother thought I would be happy if I had a change of scenery and suggested I come to America and care for you until your papa remarried. And so, here I am.”

  Her aunt had never shared that story with her before, and it was clear that there was still some pain for her from the memory. “Were they happy? Renaldo and your friend?”

  Aunt Louisa smiled. “They did not marry. My friend was caught in a compromising position with another young man and married him. Renaldo married a few months later.”

  “That is sad, Aunt. There was no reason you couldn’t have married, was there? And instead you were sent here to be a nursemaid to your niece and tolerate your brother, who can be high-handed and opinionated.”

  Aunt Louisa stood and knelt before her, clutching Lucinda’s fingers. “I’ve had no greater honor in my life than the opportunity to raise you, dear. From the moment your papa opened the door to the nursery and I saw you, I loved you. I will never, ever regret anything to do with my great fortune in being part of your life.”

  “I love you, Aunt.” Lucinda watched her rise and be seated again and then stare intently into the fire as if she were across an ocean. “Have you ever heard anything about Renaldo? Is he still alive? Is there anyone still in Spain that you could ask?”

  “He’s very much alive,” she said finally. “There is a woman, the daughter of a close friend of my mother’s. She and I have corresponded occasionally.”

  “What does she say of Renaldo?”

  “His wife died a few years ago, and he made inquiries to this family friend about me.”

  “Did he?” Lucinda smiled.

  “We’ve been corresponding for nearly a year now. He insists he is coming to America. One of his daughters is already here and living in Boston.”

  “Oh, Aunt! How exciting! Will I be able to meet him?”

  “I’ve told him to continue to Boston, that there is nothing here for him in Philadelphia.”

  “But why? Aren’t you curious about him? About his life?”

  Aunt Louisa huffed a breath and spoke sharply. “What could I possible mean to him now?” She pulled a lace handkerchief from her pocket. “I’m nothing but an old woman, past her prime, and he is undoubtedly as handsome as he ever was. You know men look wonderful with a few lines on their skin and a bit of gray at their temples.” She clutched her hankie to her lips and leaned back in her chair.

  “You must not think of yourself
that way. You are so beautiful.”

  Aunt shook her head and then smiled at Lucinda. “The reason I told you that old, sad story is so you could think about Edith Fairchild in a different light. She is not a person with your interest in mind. She will always, always be thinking of herself in everything she says and does.”

  Chapter 4

  James hefted a crate of jars onto his shoulder and went down the four outside stone steps that led to the kitchen and storerooms the family used for their canning business. There was no canning this time of year, but there were supply deliveries that James and Muireall arranged to receive when the stoves were cold.

  “Does this all come inside?” he heard from behind him. MacAvoy was at the wagon, picking up a crate.

  “Yes. It all comes down here,” James called. He hadn’t seen his friend for nearly two weeks, and his next fight was only four days away. The two men spent the next few minutes hauling boxes and crates inside while an impatient driver nagged at them to hurry.

  “Colder than a witch’s tit out here, boys. Hurry up, so I can find my own hearth and get this poor pony in clean straw,” the driver shouted.

  James pushed the heavy wooden door shut on the frigid air behind MacAvoy as he carried in the last box. He rubbed his hands together to warm them and glanced at his friend.

  “Have you been sparring at all?” MacAvoy asked.

  “Some,” James said. “My corner man is mad at me, so I didn’t always have a good partner.”

  MacAvoy rumbled a laugh. “I heard ya nearly killed poor Billy Pettigrew. What were you thinking?”

  “I went easy on him. Ended up teaching him how to keep his chin down. I would have broken the kid’s jaw three times if I hadn’t pulled my punches.”